you and me, we've seen everything to see
by procras-tea-nation
Summary: Post-8x10 feels contained here. No spoilers. Castiel and Dean had agreed on which sides they'd be on when the gates of heaven closed, but that doesn't make it any easier to follow through. Fluff, Castiel's POV. Second person. Mild language.


"If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied; illuminate the "no"s on their vacancy signs;

if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I'll follow you into the dark." -Death Cab for Cutie

* * *

You're on the edge of the world, and there's a light that shines and blinds you when you try to pry your lashes apart but they won't do it, can't do it. You're on the edge of the world and there's feathers tickling your face and an angel blade searing red hot in your palm. You're on the edge of the world, and the gates are closing, and that's when you hear him call your name.

And you think, _"No, no, don't do this,"_ because you both had agreed; you both had agreed that this was the only way and goodbyes be damned because maybe one day you could find a way back to him. You lied like you never could before. You did your best for him because it was what he needed. You never were good at lying. You should have known he'd be just as bad.

You're trying to understand in these finite moments of in-between-seconds why your shoulders are already angling, why your heels are already circling you around when you know it's too late. Because you both agreed you had to be on the other side when the gates were sealed. You told him how important it was that heaven had a leader, an angel to be a good example, and how you knew the angels needed someone who knew a little bit about love and free will. Your eyes filled with tears and your voice quivered and you hated every minute you had to stand there with your hands at your side but you did it, and now he's going to undo it all.

Cas, Cas, Cas.

Your own name sounds like sin and it's something you've had enough of, craved enough of. You bent the biggest rulebook in half and rewrote the commandments on what was sinning so it could give you an excuse to watch him while he slept instead of fighting a war. You want to understand war; but more than that you want it to be over.

Dean, Dean, Dean.

His name is flowing out of you, wholesome and muddled-grey as smoke from the barrel of a gun, and you wish you had one to shoot yourself with. You're trying to pry your lashes open because you want him to be the last thing you see before you're on the other side. You know the memory might kill you but it might just save you, too.

He's threading his fingers through yours and you feel it but you want to _see_ it, dammit, you just want a taste to cool your tongue. You just want a taste because you're burning, you're an angel of light, of the Lord, of Thursday, and the light is burning you beyond repair. Cas, Cas, Cas. Dean, Dean, Dean.

Your lungs collapse when he rams his chest against yours, when he finally grabs hold of you through the mess, the light, the burning light. You're trying to understand but he's whispering in your ear, "I told you I'd find a way, Cas, I told you I'd find a way," and your name is broken and beautiful when he's sobbing it in your neck. You're holding him before you can tell yourself not to. You don't remember why you're there or what you were supposed to do but you think it's to kiss him. So you do.

And he's arching up to meet you, kissing you, utterly intoxicated in too many ways for you to process. You're speechless and your knees are trembling but he's too strong to let you fall just yet. That light is fading and you gasp into his mouth, "No, no, Dean, no," because you both agreed you'd be on the other side. You thought you were lying but you're worried about the angels, _think of what Sam is to you_, you had said, but that wasn't enough for him—all that's enough is you. All your life you had been sacrificing so what was one more? Dean's chasing your words, snuffing them out, biting your lips blue, and soon you're chanting, "Yes, yes, Dean, yes." You're trying to understand. You don't have any answers but you think they're hidden in his fingertips.

You're on the edge of the world, and when the gates of heaven close you're where you're supposed to be.

* * *

This was purely comprised as a result of 8x10.

This is what I do with my post-spn feels.

Excuse me while I continue to sob in the corner.

despairingly,

geenon


End file.
